A S«ory It glimn hat do Tifiag . £uWho naust wUh^vairT' > «\ i-*--"* / I—/—I,1 —/—I, 7 Tired of beliefs, w>e ;ifead to withoy ,> Yet whO/ x Krpw3 \o, l.r^Dafaij'\ Tis not in endless tw^fcrrifigs/n/ught_.but Idittti^es^^^' X \ Bryant *" The snviibe to-day to-morrow diesr^-^x.-^"t sheuey A )T wha^BW^J^y'therein human state? Dn/\/~ j r '^r^rwr^r BEFORE the fading embers of a grate fire, Parrish Morton sat alone. Outside, the snow was falling in nebul ou 6, transcendent beauty, clinging to the coats of merry makers on their way to Christmas eve festivities and swathing all in a filmy scarf of white. Chimes of distant bells proclaiming "Peace on earth, good will to men," distilled their euphony across the glinting night—but Parrish, in the brooding shadows of his bachelor home, paid no heed. What did Christmas eve mean to him —to him whom the God of Plenty had given money and fame, the plaudits of his fellows, and all else loved by a man with but the frost-marks of time at his temple—and having given these, had passed to him the sparkling shell of the champagne of love only to dash it with a leer of derision at his feet? Of what use were the riches and the approval of the world? How could vain pomp and popular praise make up for the loss of that which every good man craves—love, a pure woman and the thousand incentives that have their awakening beside the towhead's crib and in that holy hour when tousled curls lay lightly on a father's breast? And all the Christmas eves to come! How cheerless and how lonely they would be with Verona gone—Verona who had come to him from the death bed of a strangely beautiful woman in New Mexico. He was searching for color in the hills when he stumbled upon the scene-—the stranded wagon in the foot hills, the mother upon whose face was the pallor of death, the stunned, half realizing child with the glorious gold en hair and the lips like twin cher ries. With her last breath the grief stricken mother told brokenly of a husband who had died en route, of their efforts to make Los Vegas, how the son had gone on ahead for the doctor, and how in despair she had waited and waited his return. That night just aB the great, pitiless black- Their Lips Met In a Plighting Kiss. ness threw its mourning robe across the canyon, the woman died! How vividly it all came back to Par rlsh Morton now as be buried his face In his hands before the crackling em bers of the lingering fire! How Verona clung to him in her terror and sobbed for her mother, sobbed for her father and her brother! Was ever a child so bereft, so desolate? And he had taken her home with him and placed her in the hands of his capable housekeeper and as time passed and no record of her kin could be found, he had advanced her Into his heart —into the most sacred corner of his great heart —and watched her grow into a beautiful maturity, a full blown rose of womanhood with eyes like the depths of quiet brooks and the face of an angel, with red lips ruddier still and tantalizingly sweet! And then the blow fell! The reali zation that he loved her and that he, her protector, must preserve her against that love, for she was but 17 and he was 33, then —and he had promised her mother out in the New Mexican foothills that he would care for her and keep her from the pitfalls as best he could! Ah, how lonely the place was when he had sent her away to school, to a distant school where he might not have to endure the pain of seeing her often —and how she had looked into his eyes at parting with the half pleading, half understanding eyes of a young rabbit suddenly met face to face in some leafstrewn hollow In the autumn woods! He had kissed her in his old, pa ternal way and her heart aggrieved had sent subtle glances of bewilder ment to flash and play within those orbs whose depths he dared not sound! And to avoid meeting her, he had gone on a distant mission, kept him self aloof for two years, while absence made the heart grow fonder and the memory of her thrilled him as the soft caressing fingers of some sweet inamorata thrills the tremulous strings of her guitar! And now upon 4 his return, she had written him that she had made plans for Christmas that might detain her at Sussex, but she wished him a very merry Christmas, wished that he might find his heart tilled with joy at again being beneath the old roof-tree, wished that this Christmas might be the happiest of all the Christmases he had ever ex perienced, and lastly assured him that she was sending him a memento of the season, which she hoped he would cherish and love for her sake. Parrish Morton repeated the words sadly: "For her sake! Ah, for her sake!" If she but knew what he would do for her sake, were it possible! But, no, she was not for him. The violet and the cosmos are incongruous. Youth and late summer are not born to trip hand in hand across the fields Elysian into Agapemone. The bell rang sharply. He heard Phipps' soft tread upon the stairs, and listened. Yes, it was she. There was no mistaking the rippling cadence of that sweet-throated bird of passage. Turning, he pressed a button and the room was sparkling with light. At the top of the stair he stood hesitating, striving to gain control of himself. At the foot, she paused, made him a mock "courtesy" and held out her arms: "Oh, Par., dear old Par., I have brought you your Christmas present instead!" The attitude, the look in her eyes, the irresistible enchantment of her beauty flooded him with Impelling power. What did she mean? Was it herself she was offering? For a brief moment he stood swaying to the mighty impulse within him. Standing stupified there, he remembered, as she bounded toward him! He must not — he could not — And then, as he was about to sweep aside all the positiveness of his duty, all the negatives and forbearances and give free impulse to his heart, there came a step behind her. She heard and turning as she was about to enter the yearning haven of his eager arms, cried: "Oh, pardon me, Mr. Morton, let me introduce Marshall Marriott. He —" Suddenly the stairs went black be fore him. He realized now! She was bringing him a Christmas surprise, the man she loved, the — Somehow he managed to greet the stalwart young fellow with the frank eyes. In a maze of conflicting pain and surprise he did the duties of a host, and when Verona and her es cort had been shown to their rooms to dress, he slipped into the den and cast himself into the great arm chair before the pulseless coals of the fire place. "Lost! Lost!" kept ringing in his ears, and with a groan of anguish he once more buried his face in his hands and gave way to a man's grief. In vain he tried to reason with himself that it were better so. He should not have expected or even dared to think it might have been otherwise. He was too old for her. She was sunshine, he was the somber cloud—but, oh, how he loved her! And for the moment he had thought she meant to give herself. The misery of it all! The heartache of it! Suddenly, behind him he heard a rustle, the frou-frou of a woman's gown, and over the side of his great chair a warm arm stole softly against his neck. "Oh, Par., what is it, dear? What have I done? What —" Instinctively in the darkness he felt the frightened rabbit look, the appeal ing gaze. Summoning all his reserve strength, he said, with scarcely a tremor in his voice: "Nothing dear, nothing to offend. I am glad—glad—for you, if he Is worthy. If —" "If—if—he—is worthy—oh, you goose, I see it all now!" In a flash she threw her arms about his neck. Her face was close to his. How soft and warm and soothing her flesh was! "He —he is my brother, lost that day In the foothills of New Mexico. I —l have just found him. I —thought you would be glad—l wanted to surprise you—lI—don't you want your Christmas present?" in desperation. With a mighty heart throb he reached about and drew her to him. Tenderly, tremblingly he clasped his arms about her and as their lips met in a plighting kiss, a tiny flame spring ing as from the heart of an ash-cov ered sapphire, flamed up from the grate and sent the shadows scurrying. Phipps coming to announce dinner, stood transfixed. Then, a broad grin upon his face, he slipped softly away chortling to his inmost self: "Lawd! Lawd! Dere sure am gwine t' be a weddin' in this yeah house afore another Christmas eve! Yas'ir!" A Quickly-Made Present. Most women know what it is to be short of a present on the last day or so before Christmas. If one has plen ty of money togo out and buy a gift this need cause little worry, otherwise quickly-made gifts are in order. One that can be turned out in a few minutes is one of the new hairpin cases. This is made of the fiber that is used in women's artificial pompa dours, only of a silvery white color. The Rose of Jericho. We are told that the rose of Jericho, which is also called Mary's rose, sprang up along the path of the Holy Family after they left Bethlehem, apd blossomed brightly wherever they-rest ed. This flower which bloomed at the birth of Christ showed its sympathy by closing at his crucifixion, only to open again at his resurrection. A Christmas Thought. So may each year be happier than the last, and not one meanest brother or sister debarred of his share of the great Creator's good gifts!— Charles Dickens. f-^5-1 5 ** ■=- Jp jmL Got Christmas gift a seen! /! Mm tickled since the Ur 7 /S>JI lonß pants su,t an ' l Y"° iind th^tjf&n^^ it boys that looked *'By W